


Party Time Buzz

by AirgiodSLV



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-29
Updated: 2010-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Gabe really is a good kisser. William hasn’t spent nearly as much time as he usually does worrying about whether he’s adequate, whether he’s doing everything right, and he really should be. If there’s a time to not fuck up kissing, it’s probably when you’re aiming to be videotaped with your tongue down the throat of the lead singer of Midtown so the evidence can be passed around among your peers.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Party Time Buzz

**Author's Note:**

> This is so completely pointless that I could not in good conscience inflict it on someone to beta. Absolutely nothing happens. Please consider yourself warned in advance.

William has a red cup in his hand and a buzz just slightly lower than the one in his ears from the pounding bass coming through the stereo. He can almost make out the song playing now, which over the noise from the party is actually quite an achievement. He should remember to compliment whoever lives here on their excellent sound system.

He sniffs his cup before taking a sip. He thinks this drink is mostly rum, which is roughly eighty proof and therefore more than four times more proof than his age. It could be one hundred proof, but he doubts it, at a party like this one. If he were drinking one-fifty-one, it would be nearly eight times his age exactly.

The fact that he can still figure that out means he’s good to finish what’s in this cup and maybe think about getting another one. He doesn’t know many people here, which is good because he’s lost the feeling of having to prove himself, but bad in that there’s no one here to look out for him if he gets drunk beyond the ability to do basic mathematics and passes out on the lawn somewhere.

A hand comes out of nowhere and wraps around his shoulder. The hand is attached to an arm, obviously, which William locates after twisting around to find out to whom it belongs. That takes him another minute to discover, as the arm attached to the hand drapes over the back of his neck, just heavy enough to signal that its owner is in roughly the same state of inebriation William is currently enjoying. He stops trying to turn around and looks the other way, to find someone vaguely familiar grinning at him lazily with perfect white teeth.

The guy has tan skin and cheekbones sharp enough to glass under a mop of dark, greasy curls. He’s wearing a Midtown shirt, which is sort of out of place, considering that everyone at this party just came from a Midtown show. Scene kids would rather slit their wrists than be caught wearing a band’s merch to their show.

“I need a volunteer,” the guy says. His hair’s a wreck, and he smells of stale sweat and fresh alcohol. William isn’t exactly a daisy himself at the moment, but this guy had to have worked up some serious perspiration at the show. He still looks familiar; maybe he’d been crowdsurfing and William had seen him go over the barrier.

“Are you asking, or is that a general announcement?” William asks. It takes him an extra second, but he’s proud of the comeback. It’s a better answer than the ‘what?’ most of the other people in this room would have used as a response.

“I’m not asking, I’m telling. I’m very selective. You’ve won the lottery.” The hand still on William’s shoulder pulls him in, steers him around until he’s pointed toward the other side of the room. “What do you say? In or out?”

“I say you should probably tell me what you want, first,” William replies, gamely bumping and squeezing his way through the press of bodies. It’s harder to maneuver with another person’s weight and mass adding to his, but most of the people here are skinny and willing enough to let them through.

“Good answer. If it were me, I’d probably ask what’s in it for me, but that’s me and everyone does their own thing. I had the what’s in it for me answer ready, though, because that’s what I would have asked, so let me tell you that I will secure you a bottle of something stolen from someone else’s van, practically unopened. And chicks. I will score you,” William’s new acquaintance tells him with an emphasizing poke in the center of his chest, “a hot chick at this party. Possibly several. Definitely numbers.”

William is not at all against this idea, but he still thinks he perhaps ought to know more. “And how,” he asks, swaying as they lurch to the side to avoid contact with the doorframe, “do you plan to achieve that?”

“I have a plan. It shouldn’t be that hard, though, I mean, you’re a pretty guy to begin with. That’s part of why I picked you to volunteer. You’re probably shy, though, am I right? You get all tongue-tied around girls? Oh hey, this is it.” And with that, the weight around William’s neck suddenly increases by a significant amount, and he and his arm-bearing friend collapse rather abruptly onto a hot pink futon mattress laid out in the corner of the rec room.

William manages through a feat of dexterity and practice to maintain his hold on his cup, even keeping it mostly upright. A small amount sloshes over the side onto the futon and trickles down his wrist. The futon looks like it’s seen much worse, though, so William doesn’t worry too much about the stain and concentrates on licking the liquid off his skin before it reaches his shirt. Alcohol reeks once it sets, and if he doesn’t get it too dirty he could still wear this shirt again tomorrow.

When he looks up again, the crazy guy – William is about to start thinking of it as an actual title, like, ‘that one time that crazy guy at that party’ – looks impressed. “Dude, you have to do that again, that’s perfect,” he says, and then, “Wait, no, not yet. Not later, though, shit. Okay, maybe not. Nice save, though.”

“Thanks,” William replies, and it almost comes out as a question. Which is fair enough, because what are they doing here, really?

“So here’s the plan, and you can tell me if you’re in or out. There are these videos, and they’re everywhere, like, shit’s gone viral, people are swapping them and I fucking kid you not, it’s guys making out at parties. Chicks go nuts, I’m telling you, it’s the fastest way to soak a pair of panties outside of going onstage. So I’m thinking you and me, we do a little of that, some chick here tapes it, it blows up, instant promotion. I’m in a band,” the guy adds belatedly, like ninety-nine percent of the people here aren’t all in bands. “Hey, I should probably introduce myself, bro, I’m Gabe.”

“I’m in a band too,” William says automatically, and as soon as the words come out of his mouth he wants them to shrivel up into non-existence, because this guy isn’t just in a band, he’s in _the_ band, the reason they’re all here tonight at this party. William had no idea the band was here. He also has no idea how he hadn’t recognized Gabe Saporta an hour ago with that first grin. In all fairness, he does look different close up and out from under the stage lights, but even so.

Gabe doesn’t seem to notice how badly William wants to bite his own tongue off, or maybe he’s just a genuinely nice guy – or maybe he just wants William to make out with him on a futon to score girls – because he answers with, “That’s cool, you should wear a shirt too, it could be a double-promotion. I’m not above sharing top bill.”

“Wait,” William says, because he needs a chance to mentally rewind and Gabe talks too much for him to do much of that. “That’s why you’re wearing the shirt?”

“Totally,” Gabe answers, and then amends, “Well, no, after the show my other one was fucking rank as shit and I didn’t have anything clean in my bag, but we decided to hit up this party, so I stole some shit from our merch booth.” He grins. “And that’s what gave me the idea.”

“Right,” William says. He thinks it comes out somewhere between level and bemused, which is much less bemused than he actually is. “You want to end up on someone’s home video so your merch gets screen time doing the rounds between scene kids in backwater Illinois.”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Gabe replies, which William assumes is an affirmative. “And don’t forget the chicks. So are you in?”

William thinks he isn’t drunk enough for this. On the other hand, he might be just buzzed enough, and he can’t pretend this isn’t something out of a dream, Gabe Saporta from Midtown singling him out of crowd at a party for special attention. Granted, it’s not the kind of attention William would have ever expected, but even so. He imagines he’s about to become the envy of everyone else in this house in just a few minutes if he says yes.

Gabe’s wearing that lazy grin again, waiting for him. “Clothes stay on,” William says. He can’t believe he’s actually considering this.

“Dude, that’s the whole point. I’m wearing the shirt,” Gabe reminds him. “Nothing below the waist, all pg-13 for the kiddies.”

“Okay,” William finds himself saying. Gabe’s grin blooms instantly, and William thinks the hazy, tight feeling in his chest is what being starstruck feels like, only he can’t remember how to act cool enough to play it off.

Gabe doesn’t wait for him to change his mind. He gets back in William’s space, what little of it there was to begin with, and maneuvers him down onto the futon. “I’m on top,” he says, stretching out beside William on one hip so that they’re not really in contact, just brushing when Gabe leans in over him. “It’ll show the logo better. That cool with you?”

“Sure,” William replies without thinking about it too hard. The futon smells much the same way it looks, like it’s seen a variety of sins over years of parties and is permeated with reminders of each one. William feels something wet soaking through the back of his shirt and belatedly remembers his spilled drink. He lifts the cup, unable to drink now that he’s on his back but not sure what to do with it, and Gabe takes it from him and downs it in a few smooth gulps.

“Rum? Nice, you’ll have to show me where the bottle is later, if there’s any left. Probably not, these fuckers always clean out the good stuff first.” Gabe licks the last glistening alcohol from his lips and says, “Ready? Showtime.”

Gabe kisses much like he drinks, and also like he accosts random people at parties: commanding, determined, like he knows what he fucking wants and is here to get it, and has no problem with coaxing you into thinking it’s what you want, too. William has a mouthful of Gabe’s tongue before he even registers that it might be a possibility, and after that there’s nothing to do but hold on and hope for the best.

Gabe tastes like the inside of William’s mouth with a vague hint of something darker, like cherry cordial. He’s an unsurprisingly thorough kisser, and William finds himself making notes after the first slow stroke of Gabe’s tongue along his sends a buzz down his spine and starts his knees tingling. It’s not bad, but it is awkward in the extreme, mostly because William is hyperaware of the noise level in their immediate vicinity and his focus is on that rather than on kissing back, trying to determine who’s noticed and what their reactions are.

Gabe bites the corner of his mouth, just enough to get his attention, and grins when William startles. “Work with me here,” he says, pitched low but carrying easily to William’s ears, as close as they are. “Don’t worry about them. Eyes on the prize. Let’s give them something worth talking about.”

That, of course, gets the songworm started in William’s head, even as he turns his attention to the slide of Gabe’s tongue against his. He’s never thought of Bonnie Raitt as make out music, honestly. Then again, it might be better than whatever’s playing on the stereo now. He thinks he recognizes the song, but they’re only a few rooms away from the speakers, and the bass is too loud for him to tell.

A hand on his arm distracts him from trying to tease it out of his memory, the same hand that dragged him here in the first place, and it wanders over to his chest as he eyes it warily. Chest is still above the waist, he supposes, but it’s still more than he’s comfortable with. He raises his own arm to lightly touch Gabe’s shoulder, subtly dislodging his hand from William’s chest in the process. Gabe grins against his mouth like he knows exactly what William’s doing, but he doesn’t call him on it, just coaxes him into a deeper kiss, twining their tongues together until William’s mouth feels full and bruised.

Gabe really is a good kisser. William hasn’t spent nearly as much time as he usually does worrying about whether he’s adequate, whether he’s doing everything right, and he really should be. If there’s a time to not fuck up kissing, it’s probably when you’re aiming to be videotaped with your tongue down the throat of the lead singer of Midtown so the evidence can be passed around among your peers.

Gabe’s hand wanders back to William’s chest, but he lets it go this time, tracking where it’s going and what it’s doing while focusing most of his attention on the angle of Gabe’s head when he tilts it just slightly to the right. William turns his head the same way, and it forces their kiss shallower, slows down the pulse of their tongues. William’s nose bumps Gabe’s, caressing briefly, and Gabe responds by sliding his hand up to curve over William’s pectoral muscle.

William leaves it alone until Gabe’s thumb rubs over his nipple, and then he adjusts his own position, nudging Gabe’s hand away toward his shoulder again. Gabe shifts the movement into a slow stretch, turning his head so William can’t do much more than nuzzle his neck. He’s smiling when he dips back down, and William recognizes the motion as a covert glance around the room.

William’s performance radar has kicked in, so he knows they’re being watched, but he can’t look around without being obvious. He has to clear his throat before he can make words come out, his lips buzzing. “How are we doing?”

Gabe finds his mouth again, licking shallow and dirty between his teeth. “Panties definitely damp,” he reports with a clandestine smile. “You’re getting laid tonight.”

William’s not hard, but his hips give a little stutter at that regardless. Gabe pulls out of the kiss just far enough away that William has to reach for him, and William feels heat spread from his chest up to his neck.

“Awfully eager, aren’t you?” Gabe jokes. “I already told you, face like yours, you ought to be…”

William shuts him up before that statement can go any further, pulling Gabe down with a hand in his hair and mashing his mouth against Gabe’s lips. Gabe doesn’t actually fall silent, making an approving noise into William’s mouth and saying something garbled that gets lost in William’s mouth, but it’s good enough.

Gabe has apparently taken the hint to stop feeling up William’s chest, because his hand settles low around William’s waist instead, fingers spreading over the thin material of his t-shirt. William’s hand is still in Gabe’s hair, tangled in oily curls. He lets it drift lower, loosely cupping the back of Gabe’s neck instead, and finds the tag of Gabe’s Midtown shirt flipped up in the back, silky-slippery under his little finger.

They’ve been kissing for a while now, long enough that William’s lips feel raw. He can’t remember the last time he kissed someone like this without other things on his mind, like whether or not to go for the bra or how to get more friction. Not that he’s not thinking about other things now, but mostly his focus is on making sure Gabe’s wandering hands don’t get too fresh, which frees up a lot more of his brain to just enjoy the buzz.

Gabe breaks the kiss and turns William’s head sideways to nuzzle at his neck. He nips William’s earlobe a second later, breathing, “Cameras rolling,” into his ear.

For some reason William chooses not to examine too closely, that makes his pulse jump and his entire body spring to alert, like this is for real now and he has to give it his undivided attention. He wants to look good, he reasons, and he doesn’t think that’s too shallow of him.

Gabe must feel the same way, because when he returns to William’s mouth there’s more intent behind it, somehow. His tongue plunges deep and retreats faster than William can keep up with, forcing him to crane his neck back into it and largely take what Gabe’s giving him, which is when he realizes that Gabe is essentially fucking William’s mouth with his tongue. Heat creeps up William’s neck again, a low-burning flush that he’s too aware of once it reaches his face.

He arches his back as a distraction, and Gabe reacts instantly, his hand on William’s waist curving to support and hold him. William tilts his head enough to change the rhythm of their kiss, and Gabe obliges him, allowing the give-and-take when William pushes for it.

One of Gabe’s fingers is resting against bare skin where William’s shirt rode up when they adjusted positions. William only really becomes aware of it when it starts inching up his torso, insinuating itself beneath his t-shirt. He stills, attention turning to that one point of skin-on-skin contact, and is determining how to subtly brush it back down where it belongs when he realizes that Gabe is smiling. Grinning against his mouth, actually, like he’s perfectly well aware of what William’s thinking and is pushing just to see how much he can get away with. Like it’s a dare, and he wants to see if William is going to pussy out.

Well, fuck that. William can be just as inappropriately exhibitionist as the next guy, and he’s not one to back down from a challenge. He lets Gabe’s hand slide higher, baring more of his skin to their audience, and when he decides it’s gone far enough, he sticks his hand in Gabe’s back pocket.

It’s obviously a surprise, because Gabe’s hips twitch forward, then back, then pause for a moment, like they’re not sure what to do. Gabe himself bites the corner of William’s mouth, eyebrow raised. William mirrors his expression right back at him.

After a second, Gabe grins. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he asks, low enough that – hopefully – the audio on whatever recording devices are currently aimed at them won’t pick it up. Although, come to think of it, it’s not anything that sounds out of place. There are probably a lot of things William could say right now, on camera, which would leave no one the wiser.

Gabe’s jeans are soft, the material worn into a relaxed fit. William’s hand slides deeper into his pocket when Gabe rolls over him, braced on elbows and knees to keep them from coming into too much contact. There’s tension in the lines of his biceps that William doesn’t look at closely, focused instead on the heated, darting attentions of Gabe’s mouth. He relaxes his own arm, his hand, and curls his fingers around the swell of Gabe’s ass.

“Careful,” Gabe murmurs against his ear, at least half-laughing. “Chicks only dig the gay thing to a point, if you know what I’m saying. They want to be sure you actually want pussy if they take you home.”

William flexes his fingers, bold. His mouth feels strange when he speaks, tingling from the friction of Gabe’s chapped lips. “I didn’t have any big plans for the night.”

Gabe pulls away enough to search his eyes, dark and curious. He flops down next to William, propped up on his elbow again, and grins. “We should do this again sometime,” he suggests, and the words are perfectly clear, but it still takes a second for William to be sure he heard them right.

He blinks, not even bothering to move his hand from where it’s slipped to rest on Gabe’s thigh. “Is this your way of asking for my number?” he asks, not sure whether to lace it with disbelief or not.

Gabe’s fingers trip distractingly up William’s side where his skin is bared. “It’s more of an accidental by-product than an original plan, but I’m flexible. I can roll with it.” His eyebrows waggle when he says ‘flexible’, and William’s almost tricked into smiling at him.

“You don’t even know if I’m gay,” William reminds him, because frankly, William isn’t all that sure either, and Gabe can’t possibly know more than he does.

“You were willing to make out with another dude for fifteen minutes. I’d call that flexible, at least. And like I said, I have some experience with flexible.” Gabe grins at him again, and this time William reluctantly allows the smile.

Gabe leans in and kisses him again, and William’s innate radar for cameras tells him their audience has gotten bored by the conversational interlude, which means this one isn’t for show. He puts a lot less tongue into it and a lot more heat, and tries not to feel the shiver skip up his spine when Gabe makes a low, quiet noise of throaty approval.

Gabe’s breath smells less like alcohol and more like William the next time he speaks, lips bare inches above William’s mouth. “How about you think about it, and I keep working on persuading you?” he offers, eyes bright.

William tucks his fingers into Gabe’s pocket again, and not the back pocket this time. Gabe’s hips follow him forward, rolling a little closer until William doesn’t have to stretch so far to kiss him again. “All right,” he agrees with a smile. “Sounds like a plan.”


End file.
